


Charlie Gets a Prostate Exam

by draculard



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Canon-Typical Sexism, Frank and Charlie go to Planned Parenthood, Gen, Humor, Underwear Sniffing, canon-typical idiocy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22997032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: What it says on the tin.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly & Frank Reynolds
Kudos: 14





	Charlie Gets a Prostate Exam

“Chawlie,” said Frank, “we need to talk.”

Charlie turned away from the open hood of Dee’s car, where he was slowly heating a can of beefaroni on the engine. He froze when he saw Frank standing in the alley; more specifically, he froze when he saw what was in Frank’s hand.

“Is that  — is that my underwear?” he asked. 

Frank wrapped his fists in Charlie’s tightie-whities and held them out like a supplicant at Mass. “They smell  _ funky _ , Chawlie,” he said. “I was doing laundry and I held them to my nose — ” He demonstrated, burying his nose in the worn crotch of Charlie’s underwear. Immediately, he pulled back, nose wrinkled and eyes squinched shut. “Whew!”

“Why are you smelling my underwear?” Charlie demanded. “Why is that a thing you do, what — ”

“Chawlie, Chawlie,” said Frank, “talk to me, what’s with the smell? Are you on drugs? Are you eating cat food again?”

“Am I — ? Frank — ”

Frank edged around Charlie on his tiptoes, craning his neck to see what was heating on Dee’s engine. “Is that cat food, Chawlie?”

“It’s beefaroni,” Charlie said, making a grab for his underwear. Frank dodged him. “Give me that! Gimme the underwear, Frank!”

Frank hurried away as fast as his little legs would take him, staying just out of Charlie’s reach. He ducked when Charlie leaned over him, fingers snagging in the underwear and making the hole at the waistband a little bit wider.

“Have you had a prostate exam, Chawlie?” Frank asked, scuttling away. Charlie stumbled over his own feet.

“A what? A  _ what? _ Why would I — ”

“You know what causes stinky discharge?” asked Frank, brandishing the underwear. “Prostate cancer. You don’t wanna get prostate cancer, Chawlie, trust me, it’s a bad egg.”

“Okay,” said Charlie, “okay, Frank, but tell me this, tell me why the hell I would get a prostate exam, okay? Because I’m not  _ old, _ Frank. I’m not old like you. Old people get prostate exams, young people don’t get prostate exams--”

“I’m worried about you, Chawlie,” said Frank. “You got stinky discharge. A healthy man’s discharge doesn’t smell like rotten cheese, it smells like penis, Chawlie. It doesn’t smell like cat food and rotten cheese.”

“Well, which is it?” Charlie asked. “Is it cat food or is it rotten cheese?”

He turned back to the engine of Dee’s car with a scowl and immediately flinched away again, hands coming up to cover his face as the can of beefaroni slowly and ominously expanded. Just before it could explode, Frank reached forward with his underwear-coated paws and wacked it off the engine. It hit the ground, bounced, didn’t explode even a little, and rolled into the gutter.

Slowly, Charlie turned to glare at Frank.

“Thanks a lot, Frank,” he said, lifting his arms and letting them slap against his sides. “That was my only goddamn food for today. Cost me a dollar and thirty-eight cents, Frank.”

“I’m sorry, Chawlie.”

Disgusted, Charlie only shook his head. “Might as well get that prostate exam,” he said. “So where do we go, Planned Parenthood?”

Frank nodded, burying his nose once again in the crotch of Charlie’s underwear. “They have the best proctologists this side of Jersey,” he said.

“Stop that,” said Charlie, batting Frank’s nose away from the tightie-whities. “Don’t do that, man, come on.”

“It’s addicting, Chawlie. It’s an acquired smell.”

“Gimme that  — gimme that!” Charlie ripped the underwear off Frank’s hands, taking a little piece of Frank’s thumbnail with it. “Let’s go to goddamned Planned Parenthood, okay?”

* * *

“I can go in with you, Chawlie,” Frank whispered in the waiting room, leaning over to the side so Charlie could hear him. 

“Why the hell would I want that?” Charlie asked out of the side of his mouth.

“I could comfort you,” Frank shrugged. “Hold your hand.”

“No.”

“Run my fingers through your hair.”

“No, no, Frank, we’re not doing that here,” said Charlie, furiously shaking his head. Frank looked up at him, pushing his lips out in a grotesque pout.

“Why not?” he asked. “You don’t like it no more?”

“It’s not that,” Charlie hissed. “It’s that I don’t want your fingers in my hair while some guy has his fingers up my ass.”

“Might be a broad,” said Frank with a shrug. “They got lady doctors now. Lady proctologists.”

“Why would a girl become a proctologist, Frank?” Charlie asked. “Think before you speak. They could be anything they wanted, they aren’t gonna become butt doctors. They could be strippers, they could be prostitutes  — they could be having sex all day, you think they’re gonna become butt doctors?”

Frank shook his head, clearly in disagreement but unable to form an argument. After a moment of silence, during which both of them surveyed the free condoms bowl with great interest, Frank turned to Charlie again.

“Can you leave your briefs, Chawlie?” he asked.

“What?” said Charlie. “No, dude. Stop.”

“I’m gonna be bored here in this waiting room,” Frank explained. “I need something to do, Chawlie, I can’t just sit here. I got a  — my mind’s racing, I got a racing mind, I need something to occupy it.”

“You just wanna sniff them again,” Charlie said. Frank made a wounded noise, but before he could protest, a nurse entered the room and called out,

“Charlie Kelly?”

“The underwear, Chawlie!” said Frank urgently, making a grab for Charlie’s jacket as he stood. “Chawlie!”

* * *

“Okay, doc,” said Charlie, rubbing his hands together, “how we gonna do this? What’s the plan? You put me in stirrups? I’ve seen  — I know there’s stirrups — ”

He was rifling through the nearest cupboard when the doctor cleared his throat and shook his head.

“No stirrups, Mr. Kelly. This is a simple procedure.”

He snapped his gloves and pointed to the examination table.

“Pants down,” he said.

“Pants down?” Charlie repeated, turning slowly away from the cupboard. “No stirrups, but  — pants down?”

“Pants down,” said the doctor again. “And bend over.”

* * *

They walked out of the clinic together. Charlie clutched a cherry lollipop in one hand; Frank had a full deck of free condoms spread out like cards in his hands, examining each one in turn.

“They don’t even have massive size,” he said, then glanced at Charlie in concern. “Your bum alright, Chawlie?”

Scowling, Charlie hitched up his pants and stuck the lollipop in his mouth. “This doesn’t even taste good now,” he grumbled. “It tastes like blood money, Frank. It tastes like ash. This is how lady doctors feel when they gotta touch old men for money. I feel dirty, Frank.”

“Ach,” said Frank dismissively. He stuffed the condoms into his shirt pocket. “Well, did you figure out the discharge problem?”

“I dunno, man,” said Charlie. “I had him smell my underwear. He said it was just cheese sauce somebody spilled on my briefs.”

“Ah,” said Frank.

“Yeah,” said Charlie.

“Well,” said Frank. “Let’s get you some ice cream, eh? Nice little prostate ice cream for prostate exam day, that’s what I always do. You like Baskin Robbins? You want some Baskin Robbins?”

Sullenly, Charlie bit into his lollipop. “They stuck a finger up my ass, Frank. You’re goddamn right I want some Baskin Robbins.”


End file.
